Sings on a stage and I feel
Oh sure, everyone’s been watching the Prancercise video that’s been making the rounds of the internet. But let’s be honest, guys, there’s a lot that video leaves out about walking for fitness. Like for example, the question of how the different genders should dress in order to most effectively master that strange excercisal mid-range between striding and galumphing? Sally Struthers, luckily, made a video that I think answers that quite nicely:
If you’re a woman, just follow Sally’s lead and wear something just a scooch more conservative than a Victorian bathing costume, but made out of sweatsuit. But if you’re a man, well, that’s a whole other thing. I don’t have male genitalia myself, but I would imagine that it’s a tricky balance to find when you’re going to be doing an activity as hip-swinging as fitness walking. You must find a way to carefully cradle your man bits in enough fabric to protect them, with just enough tension to make sure that they are held as taut as peaches in a plastic grocery bag. However, you don’t want to clog up your moving legs with any extraneous fabric, and every good bridge maker knows that you must leave flexibility for movement or the entire structure might just snap. And, let’s be honest, if you’re doing an activity as manly as fitness walking, you want to make sure you get a little biological display in there. So, you should show off your rampant masculinity to the ladies by making sure they can see the full outline of your own Sally and the Struthers, if you get what I’m sayin’.
I think we can all agree that these dudes have fully mastered the wearing of the fitness walking shorts. With not a whisper more fabric than is absolutely necessary to swath their personal prancercisers, these shorts say both “I am the stallion who will mount the world” and “please focus on anything besides the walk that I am doing.”
But you needn’t have worried, guys. After all, there are plenty of dudes who have triumphed in much longer pants with much sillier walks:
P.S. a big thank you to Isaac for exposing me to this wonder.
Okay guys, I have a confession to make. I have been attempting to write Haiku Reviews for The Explorers Club for about an hour now, and failing miserably. This can be traced to two different causes:
1. I went to the opening last night so my brain has gone into hangover mode, which is pretty much a dull staring autopilot directing me towards the nearest source of carbs and cheese.
2. It is really hard to write haiku for shows I love. This is a natural outcropping of the idea that it’s just plain harder to write a review for something you love; when there are flaws you can discuss what doesn’t work, how the pieces don’t fit, what they’re maybe attempting. But a good review is more like “man, how good was that? And you know what works about it? Everything.” So my haikus are pretty much a series of me effusively slobbering all over this play in a manner that’s not particularly witty or wise. Because, to put it simply, I just adore this play. I’m a little biased, as the director is a good friend of mine, but even if that weren’t the case I’m pretty sure I would have felt the same way.
It’s a rare and delightful thing when you see something that feels as though it was written just for you. The Explorers Club, which is a hilarious and nerdy-smart comedy about science set in the time of corsets, basically only needs Muppets and Benedict Cumberbatch to be my perfect thing. And it is pure delight – oh my god, you guys, this cast (David Furr! DAVID FURR!! Genius.) and the jokes! – I replay some of them in my head just to amuse myself (charades!! You’ll know what I’m talking about). I like to think it’s a play I would have written, if I were much much smarter, much much funnier, and much much MUCH better at writing plays than I am. But luckily I don’t need to be any of those things, because Nell Benjamin already is the smartest and the funniest and the best at writing, so I can just be her shrieking fangirl and tell you all that if you enjoy reading this blog, you’ll probably love this play. And you’ll probably see me there, since I’m pretty sure I can convince MTC to sell me some sort of fun pass for its run.
Alright, drooling-on-the-couch-while-hoping-the-aspirin-kicks-in beckons, so I will leave you with this, since I promised a haiku:
There’s a new entry
Into the exalted ranks
Of my favorite things.
I forgot one thing from my Tony Awards thoughts round-up: a realization I had while watching the number from ‘The Phantom of the Opera’.
First of all, I love Phantom (no really, I do – my friend Dave and I went back this year to see Sierra Boggess and both became unironically re-obsessed with the show). However, I don’t know about you guys watching at home, but from the house that number sounded as tinned as a can of SPAM. I’m sure those guys can actually really sing, but I think Dave and I could have lip-synced it and been just as convincing, considering how piped in it sounded (by the way, Dave and I are totally available to lip-sync the entire show, anytime).
BUT, that is not what I came on here to say. What I actually noticed was the lyric “and though you turn from me to glance behind”. How can she be turning from him to glance behind? He’s behind her on the boat! She’d have to sort of lean to the side and look around him to glance behind, which wouldn’t really be turning from him. So, to be accurate, the lyric would have to be “and though you crane your head to glance behind” or “and though you scooch ’round me to glance behind.” Or, alternately, the lyric could be “and though you turn from me to glance in front,” which I suppose is much lamer.
They’ve sort of half solved it with the staging, which points the boat upstage on the lyric. That means the boat is facing back the way they came, and she is indeed turning from him to glance behind on their journey. However, this messes up the suspension of disbelief that the Phantom is piloting the boat through many dark cavernous passageways, since if she’s indeed looking back the way they came, he definitely just piloted them in a big old circle. Which is possible – I mean, he is wearing a mask on one eye, it’s possible he has really bizarre peripheral vision and has a hard time going forward (especially with a steering device that only goes on one side of the boat, and a wide, short boat – those things are impossible to make go straight), or that he just wants to show off all the pretty candles that it probably took him forever to light.
Here, take a gander for yourself – the boaty goodness starts at about 3:10:
But hey, it could be much worse: in the movie, the Phantom sings that lyric having just put Christine on the horse that INEXPLICABLY LIVES IN THE UNDERGROUND CATACOMBS OF THE PARIS OPERA HOUSE, FULLY TACKED, AND PROCEEDS TO TAKE CHRISTINE ABOUT FORTY FEET THAT SHE COULD HAVE VERY EASILY WALKED HERSELF. So really, whether she’s looking back or not is the least of the logical problems at that moment.
By the way, this might be the first in a new blog series calls ‘Anika Overthinks Theater’.
I think we can all agree, this year Broadway’s biggest night was BAD. ASS. Back at Radio City after a few years at the Beacon, the Tony Awards managed to fill the gigantic space with pure theater joy. I was lucky enough to be watching from the orchestra seats (right behind Jesse Eisenberg! You can sort of see my left ear and shoulder in a really quick shot, so I’m basically a famous person now, FYI). The show was delightful from there too – no small feat considering you are sitting in your seat for four plus hours straight, and it’s hot under those lights, and so most people are just sweaty hangry spanxy messes by the end.
Despite all the awards handed out during the show, I felt that there were some awards left hanging. So, I thought I would step in to fill that void with some awards of my own. Thus, without further ado:
Best Avoidance of Misuse of Power: Neil Patrick Harris
Can we just agree that Neil Patrick Harris is the best host of anything ever? I mean, seriously, the dude did like seven things in the opening number that the vast majority of regular humans cannot do, and he did a lot of them at the same time. And yet the entire time he made it seem like piking through hoops and being lifted by cheerleaders while also singing and being incredibly charming was the easiest thing ever. At the end of that number (which made me cry with pure Broadway love upon rewatching), the audience in Radio City had so collectively lost their minds with the overwhelming face-melting joy of it all that Neil Patrick Harris could have commanded us all to do pretty much whatever he wanted, and we would have done it – crowd-surfed the cast out like we were a giant mosh pit, opened our wallets, stormed the barricade, murdered Michael Reidel. Instead he just kept on hosting the show, like a BOSS.
Tony Loss Most Personally Upsetting To Anika Chapin: Bertie Carvel
This isn’t to take anything away from Billy Porter, who is amazing and deserves prizes. But dang, Bertie Carvel created another species of human being on that stage, and it was one of my favorite performances of all time.
Tony Performance Most Representative of the Show Itself: Motown
Motown’s performance started out great – fun dancing and singing of songs everybody loves. And then, much like the show itself, it got to the point where you thought “well that was fun, I suppose it should be wrapping up now,” and there proceeded to be many more long minutes of performance, on a diminishing scale of funness. Motown, you’ve got some great stuff in you, but you are too. Fucking. Long.
Most Mystifying to an Entire Audience/viewing Public: The Rascals
What the hell WAS that?! Maybe I was distracted by Steve Van Zandt’s ‘I Am My Own Wife’ headscarf, but there was a distinct aura of confusion in the house when The Rascals did their performance. The show itself was a bit of a mystery – it just popped up one day in a theater like a strange psychedelic Brigadoon – and I don’t think the performance helped clarify anything. So it’s about… a band? It IS the band? There’s some trippy projections and someone from The Sopranos? Is the entire show an immersive experience to simulate an acid trip? Inquiring minds want to know.
Best Argument for Immediate Casting as a Comedic Character in a Comedy: Laura Benanti
That TV number was genius, and all four of its participants were great. But damn, Laura Benanti is HILARIOUS. And yet, she’s most often cast as the sweet, sort-of-ditsy female straight man. She’s a talented actress, so I’m not saying she doesn’t also do that well, but come ON, people. Just because she’s gorgeous doesn’t mean she and her genius comedy instincts couldn’t be the smart funny lead of her own show. Get with it, producers and TV execs.
Best Argument for Immediate Casting as a Batman Villain: Cicely Tyson
Cicely Tyson proved herself a legend with with her moving and dignified acceptance speech, and she proved herself a legend twice over by pulling off a dress no other human being on the planet could possibly rock:
But I can’t help but think that she would be triply legendary if she wore this exact look straight on over to Gotham City. Think about it: she could be the regal Lady Aubergine, capable of hypnotizing the good people of Gotham with her velvet voice and dignified dramatic pauses, only to kill them with poison darts from her ruffles.
Best Embodiment of the Full Variety of Sexiness: Scarlet Johansson and Alan Cumming
Big props to both of these guys for being so funny and gracious about not being nominated, but also, dayamn!! With ScarJo in black and Alan Cumming in white, they were like the yin and yang of sexy: completely opposite types, one lush and voluptuous, one skinny and unusual, but both possessed of that ineffable juju that makes everyone in the world want to do it to them.
Best Visual Description of a Weird Problem with Broadway: the NINETY BILLION PRODUCERS onstage with every show.
Sweet lord jeebus, there were a ton of people accepting awards for the winning shows! I counted 26 people for ‘Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf’, a show that featured a cast of four people. I know the economics of producing Broadway are getting increasingly complicated, but it feels like if we keep going this way it’ll just be easier to put the camera on the audience and have everyone who DIDN’T produce the show raise their hands.
Best Accessorizing of a Tony: Fran Weissler
She won a shiny silver Tony for the stellar revival of ‘Pippin’, and it happened to go perfectly with her awesome and gigantic necklace. Whether she had won or not, that is the necklace of a winner. Or a queen from an exotic kingdom on ‘Game of Thrones’, which is pretty much the same thing.
Just the Best: NPH, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Tommy Kail, and Audra McDonald.
Just, blargh, you guys. This quartet – my brain can’t form worthy words. Between the opening number, the final rap, the sassiness with which Audra McD chimed in, there’s just too much goodness here, so I’ll let their final moment speak for itself:
It’s been a long rainy afternoon, which means that I felt pretty good about giving up any pretense of productivity and making a butt-shaped dent in the couch while I watched multiple hours of ‘Dr. Who’. I’m a latecomer to the series, so I’m still pretty far behind – I’m wrapping up Season 4 now – but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have oh so many feelings about it. Like, Donna Noble! So awesome! And really, the Daleks are the superkillers of this world? Because they are pretty much just giant bumpy traffic cones whose weapons are a whisk and a plunger. I mean, how about the invisible piranhas that live in the shadows and pick your bones clean when you walk out of the light? Those things are terrifying!
Anyhoo, it was recently announced that Matt Smith, who plays the most recent incarnation of the Doctor (because if you don’t watch the show, it has a BRILLIANT built-in ‘we can run forever’ device, which is that the Doctor can regenerate himself, allowing new actors to take over the role every few years) is leaving the show. That means it’s time to find a new Doctor, and the internet is abuzz. And because I went down a significant Dr. Who rabbit hole this afternoon, I now feel qualified to add my own two cents to a world FULL of cents.
Judging from the previous actors they have hired to play the Doctor, here are some elements that seem to be likely for whoever comes next:
The Doctor can technically take a number of different forms, but so far all eleven incarnations have been dudes. There’s been some support to have the next Doctor be a woman, which, lets be honest, would be awesome and long overdue. However, there are elements of the Dr. Who universe that would make having a female Doctor more complicated than just having a lady running the TARDIS. Beyond just the very present (and lame) excuse of ‘tradition’, the biggest hurdle is that the Doctor (spoiler!) has a female wife. Although the showrunners of the show have said they would welcome a woman Doctor (and the show has been progressive in its portrayal of sexualities, most notably in the bisexual (or pansexual) Captain Jack Harkness), I would imagine that the BBC would still be gun shy about having their most massive shows feature a lesbian relationship at its core. Also, judging from the soul-crushing vitriol in internet comments, lots of fans are, shall we say, resistant. Also, horrible people, because YIKES you guys.
2. A Theater and TV Background
Judging from the new incarnations, casting directors are looking at actors who have legit stage credits (especially in Shakespeare and classics) as well as some roles in television series. Movies don’t seem to be a direct line to the TARDIS.
3. Moderate Fame
All three of the latest Doctors weren’t hugely famous when they were cast. They were more like “oh, THAT guy!” I’d expect that the next Doctor will follow the same route – established enough to be known, but not so famous that viewers will have to shake off previous roles to buy him as the Doctor. Benedict Cumberbatch is too famous. Dominic Cooper and Idris Elba probably are as well. Even Ben Whishaw, whose name has come up quite a bit, might be too famous.
The Doctors are getting younger; Christopher Eccleston is 49, David Tennant is 42, and Matt Smith is only 30. Since traditionally the Doctors have skewed older, I would imagine that they don’t want to continue the trend of Merlin-like backwards aging, and will choose someone a little older than Matt Smith, at least.
5. A Sense of Fun
Yes, he’s a pacifist and a time-traveler and filled with inner pain, but let’s be honest; everyone likes the Doctor more when he’s funny. Christopher Eccleston, the first of the new reincarnations, is an actor who naturally reads more sinister and dangerous, and whenever he smiled his big “I’m having fun!” smile you just thought he was about to snap and murder someone. Which, when the Doctor is supposed to be the guy in the universe you can trust the most, isn’t great.
This is the biggest question. All the Doctors so far have been white, but in a show that values literally the diversity of the universe, this seems peculiar. There’s been a lot of pressure to feature an actor who isn’t Caucasian, and since they probably aren’t going to cast a woman there’s a very good chance this is where they’ll expand the canon.
Duh. Do YOU want to be the nation that has the entire UK coming after you because one of your actors got the role that is so essentially British it might as well be stamped on the top of every McVitie’s? I thought not.
So, will all this in mind, here are my picks for who actually might be coming out of the TARDIS next, in no particular order:
1. Ben Daniels
This name has been bandied about all over the place, because it makes total sense. Except for the whole ‘another white Doctor’ thing, Daniels ticks every box of a likely Doctor: he’s older, has lots of stage and TV credits while still being not immediately recognizable, and is sexy and funny while still being sweet.
2. Adrian Lester
He’s got the stage cred (and, like David Tennant, famously played Hamlet), he’s got the talent, he’s got the looks, and – bonus – he apparently shares the Doctor’s inability to age, because that dude is 44. 44!!! A Time Lord indeed.
3. Oliver Chris
This probably won’t happen because he’s too similar to Matt Smith, but how great would the tall bedimpled star from ‘One Man, Two Guvnors’ and the British ‘The Office’ be as the Doctor? He’s a goofy/sweet stage actor with comedy chops for days – a great combo. Also, the dimples. Oh, the dimples.
4. Domhnall Gleeson
The same age as Matt Smith (although he reads even younger), Domhnall Gleeson is a great choice if they want to continue the youthful trend. He’s insanely charming and has the stage credits (remember him in ‘The Lieutenant of Inishmore’? He was HILARIOUS) and feels like he’s just the right level of fame to play the Doctor – he’s teetering on the precipice of being the Next Big Thing, so why not confirm it? However, he’s more of a boy than a man, and he’s still white (although he is a redhead, which people sometimes seem to think is some sort of weird other category unto itself – I guarantee you that if he is announced as the next Time Lord there will be headlines extolling the first Ginger Doctor).
5. Irrfan Khan
Come on, if this man beckoned you into his traveling police box to travel the universe, would you go? Of course you would, because Irrfan Khan is the best. He’s a bigger star than anyone else on this list, for sure, but he still hasn’t quite broken into the British and American market in the way he has already in his native India. But it feels like only a matter of time; he is an incredibly talented actor, who effortlessly projects a fundamental decency and heartbreaking vulnerability at the same time. You would instantly believe that his Doctor carries the weight of his destroyed world with him always, and yet you’d trust whatever he says. He’s not technically British, but this would be a really cool nod to the UK’s large Indian population.
6. Stephen Mangan
I was going to stop at five, but then remembered Stephen Mangan, who would be SO perfect. I mean, right?
7. Jennifer Ehle
Screw what I said before about not having a woman Doctor, because JENNIFER FUCKING EHLE. Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t want to watch Jennifer Ehle play any role at all? There cannot be, because Jennifer Ehle is the shit. That is all.
The most recent issue of the Sondheim Review has something pretty exciting for the family Chapin – a big old piece written by none other than yours truly and my father, Ted Chapin. Now you’re probably saying, “well of COURSE, Anika, we already know this because we subscribe/buy the Sondheim Review regularly, because why would we not want to fill our lives with even more Sondheimian joy?” to which I say, good for you, as well you should. But I’ve included it here for those of you who haven’t yet bought your copy (it’s the one with the stars of CSC’s Passion on the cover, because APPARENTLY Ryan Silverman and Melissa Errico locked in a passionate embrace is more likely to sell magazines than two squinty-eyed Chapins. WHATEVER.)
The piece is an account of the Roundabout Theatre Company’s December reunion concert of their 2004 production of Assassins. As you will read, the show is beloved by both Dad and myself, and it was great fun both diving into one of my favorite productions and getting to share it with my dad. Although it’s probably clear which voice is which if you’re a regular reader of my blog, I’ve put Dad’s stuff in italics, for clarity and so that everything he says automatically sounds more dramatic.
Anika Chapin: For about six months, I have had an entry in my calendar for December 3 saying simply “best night ever.” That might sound a bit overwrought (I tend to get a little effusive in the company of my own calendar), but as soon as I heard that a reunion concert of Assassins was happening, I knew I had to be there.
Ted Chapin: My story with ASSASSINS begins when I ran the Musical Theater Lab in the late 1970’s. Stuart Ostrow created a program with the Dramatists Guild, working closely with his small board of directors that included Bob Fosse and Stephen Sondheim. The idea was for new musicals to be submitted, and then they would be examined and processed through a series of work sessions with established musical theater artists. It never happened, for reasons I don’t remember, but one of the submissions was ASSASSINS by Charles Gilbert. Sondheim expressed interest in the title, and so I sent the material over to his Turtle Bay house.
Anika: To put it simply, Assassins is important to me. I have been a musical theater fan almost all of my life, brought to my first musical by my father, a lifer himself, when I was six months old (I am told I was mesmerized by the lights going down, but had some book problems with act two.) I was the kind of kid who listened to Les Miserables on the way to school and Into the Woods on the way home, and who still remembers some of the facts of American history by mentally reviewing the numbers in 1776. But when I first heard Assassins, I was stunned.
Ted: I was invited to a reading at Playwrights Horizons – there were two done in one day, and I went to the second. I was knocked out by what I heard – audacious, bold, dark, yet tuneful. And quite stunning. When the final scene took place literally in the Texas School Book Depository building with Lee Harvey Oswald being visited by the assassins and would-be assassins from the past, my jaw dropped. Being old enough to have remembered that day in Dallas, I couldn’t believe they were actually creating a scene in which Oswald would be egged on to kill Kennedy in order for him, a nobody, to be remembered. Wow, I thought. This is pretty amazing. Although I got a quick sense of just how controversial the show would end up being when I checked in with my father Schuyler Chapin who had been at the earlier reading. As one of the very few fans of the presidency of Warren G. Harding, he had a hard time with the subject matter, although he was and remained a huge Sondheim fan. When he ran the Metropolitan Opera, he tried to convince Sondheim to write an opera.
Anika: This was something different from anything I had encountered before: theater that broke the rules I knew to ask questions that reached into the dark underbelly of my country and culture. I loved that the songs each reflected the era of their respective subjects and I adored that the show wasn’t afraid to humanize the assassins, to make them characters instead of simple monsters. And the last scene in the John Weidman book accomplished something I had never experienced in theater before, and have only rarely experienced since. Over the course of a single scene I was made to understand that which I thought I could never understand: exactly why Lee Harvey Oswald might commit his atrocious act. It was powerful, and it was terrifying, and it is not an exaggeration to say that Assassins taught me what theater, and specifically musical theater, could do. It’s very possible that the roots of my current life as a Dramaturg began in the many long hours I spent listening and re-listening to the cast album, noticing new musical quotations or lines in the final scene that I hadn’t before, or writing essays in my head about the relationship between the audience and the narrator figure in Sondheim’s musicals (doesn’t everyone write mental essays about Sondheim shows on long subway commutes?)
Ted: On the evening I was schedule to see the full Playwrights Horizons production in 1991, I was invited to a cocktail party in an apartment across from River House, as far East as you can get on 52nd Street. Attending the party was Jacqueline Onassis.I asked someone to introduce me to her. She was ever gracious, as we spoke about children and schools in New York, and how my boss Dorothy Rodgers had worked with Caroline’s husband Edwin Schlossberg. It was only as I left the party that I realized how peculiar it was that I would leave that gathering and venture across town to see ASSASSINS. The audience I saw that production with didn’t seem to love the show – I am not sure why, but somehow they weren’t willing to embrace it.
Anika: So as you might imagine, when the Roundabout production happened in 2004, I was ecstatic – finally I would get a chance to see the show I had loved and imagined for so long, brought to life by a group of actors that was almost an embarrassment of riches. Unfortunately, I was also in New Zealand on a study abroad semester that was scheduled to end after the run of the show. So, in the words of Dot, I did what I had to do… I cut my study abroad short and flew back to catch the show (sorry, Vassar!)
Ted: Part of what made the 2004 Roundabout production so remarkable, was that this time, thirteen years later, audiences accepted the show with all its dark underbelly and comic insanities. Somehow the production the Roundabout gave the show fit in a way that the original production hadn’t. (I didn’t much like the Sam Mendes production at the Donmar Warehouse in London which was the first show of his tenure there.)
Anika: It was worth it. Although I had loved the show I imagined in my head through myriad listenings, seeing the production on stage was far better; the cast made the characters alive and heartbreaking, and the show was funnier, and a little more surreal, then I had thought. Some elements, when staged, surprised me: the Balladeer and the Proprietor felt much more like counterparts, one advocating for hope and the other urging vengeance for the failure of the American dream. Although I knew the last scene so well I could probably have recited it along with the actors, I was freshly swayed by the terrifying reality that to be hated and remembered is still being remembered, and freshly devastated when it reached its conclusion. Since Joe Mantello’s production made the Balladeer become Lee Harvey Oswald, the argument stung even more; the voice of hope and reason had finally been convinced. And ‘Something Just Broke’, which I had never heard before, left me weeping. Experiencing the pain of a country mourning together was a reminder of what horrors these characters, whom I had come to know and love over the course of the evening, had committed.
Ted: Which brings us to December 3, 2012. It had been eight years since the original Roundabout production. Usually at the one-night-only reunion concert events – which have now become almost a genre – it’s interesting to see actors who have soft-pedaled their careers in the interim, or dropped out entirely, or those whose physicality has changed. Sometimes the evening becomes a kind of spiritual homecoming. This time it was extraordinary that everyone, with the exception of Eamon Foley who was 8 in 2004, looked, sounded, and acted like 2004 was yesterday. How great it was to see Neil Patrick Harris, Michael Cerveris, Becky Ann Baker, James Barbour, Mario Cantone, Alexander Gemignani, Marc Kudisch, Jeffrey Kuhn, Dennis O’Hare – and Anne Nathan, Merwin Foard, etc. The audience cheered as the cast came on, all except Harris, whose later entrance was not only greeted with another round of applause, but was entirely artistically appropriate for the character of the Balladeer.
Anika: I discovered all those things anew in the reunion concert. Once again the show I thought I knew so well surprised me, including with how well it takes to a minimalist concert staging. The Mystery of Edwin Drood’s music hall set, borrowed for the evening, was surprisingly effective; the side balconies gave the sense that we might be seeing the whole show at Ford’s theater, a happy (if slightly morbid) bit of kismet. Marc Kudisch, back as the Proprietor, and Neil Patrick Harris, as the Balladeer, sat at opposite ends of the stage, further underlining their status as opposing forces. And the cast, reunited almost in full (Annaleigh Ashford took over from Mary Catherine Garrison as Squeaky Fromme, effortlessly and hilariously) looked even more like a group lined up in their contemporary black outfits, each with a hint of their character; they were individuals from different times and places who nonetheless belong together, linked forever by their frightening, terrible, desperate, fascinating acts. But mostly, I was reminded just how powerful and important Assassins is. I can think of no other work that examines with such bold curiosity the question of what happens when the great promise of the American Dream sours. Sondheim’s work often explores the idea of what happens after dreams do or do not come true (Sweeney Todd and Into the Woods are the primary examples, but each with a very different form of dream), but Assassins asks a question that feels most urgent for us to answer: if our culture has become one in which fleeting fame or the pain of many feels like equal payment for an individual’s failed dreams, what can we expect but more of the same?
Ted: The evening was a success on many levels, starting with the $850,000 that the theater raised for its musical theater program in the one night only event. (The chairman of the board announced that astonishing news before the show began). That meant our $500 tickets provided us with seats in the last row of the orchestra, and a chit for a sippy cup of white wine before the festivities began. How great that Sondheim’s work has become so well supported, both by fans and by his stalwart financial supporters, who were well represented: Mary Jo and Ted Shen were the chairs, and Perry and Marty Granoff were listed as well.
Anika: The concert on December 3 might have been a reunion, but it was also a reminder that this material is as fresh today as it was eight, or even 23, years ago. Sitting in the audience listening to this stellar cast bring Assassins to life again, I realized that I have been listening to the show for almost twenty years now, which is two thirds of my life so far. I plan on continuing to listen to it. I suspect I will be discovering new details of the book and the score 20 years from now, and 20 years from then. And if future generations of Chapins happen to love the show as much as my father and I do, I would be thrilled. There might be some dark family sing-alongs in the future.